Tuesday, January 24, 2017

People in this town really sleep on IKEA. I think the store is great but no one else in our town seems to shop there often. It’s so underappreciated. Well, now that I think about it, I’ve also been sleeping on IKEA but in a different way. I found a twin bed in the edge of the store that I’ve camped out in for a couple of weeks now. I’m not proud of my squatting, but I gotta do what I gotta do and I just don’t feel safe in Winthrop Place anymore, not after what happened last week. I started in the north of the town, stealing the wreaths from the Police Station and dog shelter, and I had planned on nabbing all of the wreaths until something strange happened. I had a backpack full of wreaths and I was making good time, but then I felt a rush of heat sweep over my back. I turned around and was blinded by an intense light and a flurry of smoke. I was on fire.
Before I could take my jacket off and try and handle the fire myself, the fire handled me. The pain crippled me to the ground and into the cold snow. After a brief battle, the snow eliminated the fire, with the small casualties of a puddle of water in the middle of Blackburn Avenue and this nasty scar on my back. This is bad. No, this is good? No, this will definitely be bad. I debated in my head about how this scar would affect me. Well for one, I’m pretty sure it will scab and puss and look gross. That’s bad. On the other hand, this could be my struggle. Every rapper seems to have their struggle that they overcame, and then they can rap about it. I’ve had an easy life so far, middle-class family, I had both parents, and I have an apartment. I found my struggle! I hobbled back to Winthrop Place, ready to put on some Aloe Vera until I bumped into Briar walking out the front door. He asked how I got burned, and I told him about the wreaths spontaneously combusting. Briar said he was leaving Winthrop Place because he saw just the same thing happen inside there. The damn wreaths were catching fire everywhere, and in that old building, odds are a spark from a wreath would burn the whole building to a crisp. I wasn’t trying to get burned again, so I grabbed my notepad and dipped out of that building. I wish I could have gotten rid of all the evil wreaths in town but oh well, I guess Christmas will never be great again.
Here at IKEA I feel safe with the high ceilings and solitude; it’s like the employees actively avoid me. I turned to my pad and began to rewrite my album. Now that I have this burn, I’m like an army vet in a way. I’ll call myself a veteran rapper! No that’s dishonest. Well, Soulja Boy isn’t a soldier... I’ll call myself Sergeant Tom. That’s it. Now to finish my album.